


Closer Than Close

by MrUndisclosed



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: After this especially, Again we know what fandom this is, Anxiety, Consensual Possession, Damien also like beats up someone, F/M, Friendship, Ghostly romance, Not quite a romance but almost certainly closer than friends, Panic Attacks, Probably light body horror, Someone explodes but this is Monster Prom people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29811504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrUndisclosed/pseuds/MrUndisclosed
Summary: Oz decides that to get a little help he has to work on letting people in. Polly just barges in and sets up shop, literally. Well there's no literal shop but she's getting all up inside that shadow boy to try and help him deal with his mounting feelings and woes.
Relationships: Polly Geist/Yellow | Oz
Kudos: 5





	Closer Than Close

There’s nothing to fear but fear itself is a saying human’s came up with to sound poetic and pretend they weren’t afraid of giant spiders. It sounded pretty and honestly meant nothing, fear was obviously meant to be feared- it was called fear for the love of all that was obvious. Still it’s shockingly appropo as right now in Spooky High-School’s scenic bathroom fear is...well having an episode. 

Oz sat on the toilet not doing anything but trying to make his head stop banging. It was like the phobias were going at his eyes with pickaxes. Something had shook loose during math class...it was all getting out of hand. 

It hurt to breathe, he didn’t sweat but he could feel things shift and writhe under the membrane of his flesh. Fear had a way of snowballing out of control with little help required. He realized he didn’t have a pencil, that was fine who took actual notes in class? Then he realized what if he should take notes? Why would he do that? To avoid a dark and horrible dateless future all alone as a no nothing weirdo who eats seagulls all day! Then...well...that been it. 

His brain spent hours vomiting up the image of him sitting somewhere going mad, gibbering and slavering away into some mindless mess of darkness. So here he was in the bathroom trying to breathe and ignore...what he really hopes is someone being swirlied to death in the next stall over. If not then someone needs help and fibre. 

He rubbed his hands up and down his arms. Going over positive affirmations in his mind. Telling himself he was present, he was here, he was present and he was here. He was not anywhere else, he was not in some impossible future or some hellish fantasy he was here...in Spooky High. Weeks away from prom and having no idea how he was gonna find a date this time before he wound up alone and-

He kicks the stall door a few times, there it goes again. Rolling, mounting, building, roiling like the waves it always gets him. He can’t help it, he doesn’t try to do this, it just happens. The sun is hot, witches fly on stolen cleaning utensils and the living embodiment of fear is constantly consuming himself in an endless wave of self fuckery. 

It’s never just one thing, it's always a dozen things and his chest heaves, desperate for air he can barely give it- because of course he’s going to die because he has no mouth and he can’t BREATHE! 

He doesn’t even need to breathe! Why is he freaking out? Oh that’s right because that’s all he ever does is freak out all the time. He’s in a constant state of freaked and then a constant state of out. He growls and thumps his head against the door, just...find a little chill. A little quiet. A little bit of peace an-

“If you’re shitting yourself to death do that quietly!” Someone calls out. Oz looks up at the door as a head phases on through. The party geist herself, Polly Geist notices he’s not dying on the can and he’s looking a little drippy. “Hey boo, sup with you?”

“I can’t do a funny answer,” Oz tells her, quickly shaking his head and drawing his knees up to his chest, “I dunno. Bad day, bad week...spiralling into a bad life.” He goes on and she slides into the cubicle with him, door’s don’t mean much to the dead. Just ask Brian when he forgets his keys and walks through a solid stone wall to get inside. At least Polly is subtle. “You got any weed?”

“Wow it’s THAT bad?” Polly doesn’t even laugh when she says it. Oz was a guy who took four hours to prep for a night out and had to be briefed on every substance he may come in contact with before he’d set foot in a venue. Sure...Polly had learned you could try and spike him but that just led to a few weeks of him not being able to look at you. Not that Oz found it easy to look at Polly, oh the phobias and the waves of fear would wash over him when he saw her. 

Never good enough. 

Not even worth the time.

Don’t ask her to prom, you'll die on the spot. 

“It’s not good, Polly.” Oz breathes out and looks up at her, big yellow eyes desperate pits begging for a sweet puff of whatever she’s got. Polly shrugs at him and he breaks from his trance. “Bullshit you’re not holding.” 

“Hey man you think I like this?” She leans against the door and her legs float upward, upward and her ankles rest on the top of his head. “Principle Giant Spider saw my new Bongasaurus and he’s had me frisked ten times today! They’ve sent a hazmat team into my locker to clear it out and they found my secret stashes.”

“Oh no not the ones with ‘Polly’s Secret Stash don’t steal my shit’ that you leave in the trees?” Oz asks and Polly nods. “How did they...ever find those?” Oz asks, fairly sure it was a rule that faculty and hall monitors burst into flames upon leaving the deconsecrated grounds of this unhallowed place. 

“Yeah I have no idea Oz, they clearly have some kind of...well trained drug finding animal on their side.” Polly shakes her head. “To think...nature would conspire against me like this, after all of the nature I shove inside my horrible body!” She cries out raising a hand and pauses….looks at Oz, a smirk slides onto her face. “That’s a ticket.”

“What?” Oz doesn’t like the look on her face, her legs leave his head as she walks across the ceiling and back down the stall door. Weightless and ethereal she slides over to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. Oz thinks the fear he feels settle across his skin is deserved when Polly leans right down to his ear. 

“Lemme in.” She tells him, her voice light and he looks at her. 

“L...let you in?” He asks. “What do-” he goes limp as her arms slide inside his body, there’s no resistance as she phases through him. She’s done it a hundred times before, she’s done it a million times before but she doesn’t complete the trip. “Polly.” Oz swallows as she slides against him, her smile growing closer and closer until it slid past his eyes and Polly was….gone. 

“Ooooh fuck.” Oz slumped from the toilet to the floor. “Ohhhh I forgot what weight felt like,” Oz reaches up and stokes his face. “Oooh you’re so warm. You’re soooo warm.” His hands shoot up to his hair. “Polly!?”

“Yeah?” Oz rests his head against the stall. “Yeaaaah that’s me.” Oz tells himself holding his hands up to the humming grungy light. “Oh wow...lookit these.” He clasps hands and squeezes. “I dunno what you got instead of blood, boo but it feels nice.” 

“Polly” Oz feels something twist inside him, something tenses and then slides. “Shhhh…” Oz presses a finger against his face, a long bubbling laugh racing from him. “Ooh oops, no mouth to shush, you are unshushable did you know that?” 

“Polly are you inside me!?” Oz tries his hardest to curl up into a ball but his limbs don’t listen to him. “Well, sorta,” Oz offers with a languid stretch. Arms in one cubicle with his head, body in the middle and legs in the other stall. Bathroom floor party of one, should be and is causing Oz to want to scream but he doesn’t make a peep he just vibes. “It’s like possession, you know? I’m...sitting at the wheel and you’re riding shotgun.” 

“This...I….Do you trust me?” Oz cuts himself off and he knows he does and she knows he does. She’s in here too. “I know you do,” he sits himself up, “but let’s hear you say it yeah? Let’s hear you say you trust me.” 

Oz stands up, swatting a loose rubber off his shoulder and walking out into the bathroom proper. The mirror was clean for once and Oz looks himself over. Running a hand under some water and then ran it over his…. “Oh my god is this not hair? Is this just a thing.” Oz asks, tugging on it. “Do you have silly putty for hair?”

“Polly.” Oz moves his hands but his shoulders slump, a snort slides out of him. “You gotta chill, relax, let Polly take over for today. Take a load off.” Oz slides back his hair. “You wanna be mellow, name anyone more mellow than Polly Geist.”

“I...this feels so weird.” Oz shudders, scratching at his neck. “I...what are you doing?” He moves to the mirror again. “Just...trust me, you trust me right? Let me help you chill out. Let me just take over for a bit. Show you the world isn’t out to get you.”

“I never thought it was until right no-” He grips his own face. “Do you. Trust me?” Oz asks and swallows in response. “I...Trust you.” Oz tells himself and he feels something very strange. He looks at his reflection and there on his face a smudge at the area where a mouth should be. Faint, blue, the outline of lips pressing outward. Oz covered that area with sudden shock. 

“Oh god that felt so fucking weird.” Oz said and he had no idea which of them said that. “Okay, Oz...this is fun but if you keep grabbing at the wheel I’m gonna have to put you in the trunk.” Oz rolls his shoulders. “Let’s let me drive, yeah?” Oz walks forward, stumbling some as he moves. “Ooh gimme a sec, this is a little,” he kicks out his legs a few times, “wow you got short legs.” 

“Do you think so? You might be used to floating…” Oz hops up and down a few times. “I CAN’T FLOAT.” Oz reminds Polly who just huffs. “Oh my god, you’re actually gonna make me engage in locomotion. This is barbaric dude.” Oz makes for the door but grips the sink. “Oz you said you trust me.” He speaks into the mirror. “Wash my hands.” Oz says firmly. 

“Oh my god yes!” Oz goes to the sink and slaps the taps, warm water spews out after a few seconds of glunking and clanking. Then hot water. Oz jams his hands under the water and his knees shake. “Oh my god I forgot how nice water feels.” Oz rattles off, scrubbing his hands slowly but surely. Lacing his fingers, rubbing hand against hand and leaning this way and that. Taking the time to wash each individual finger, knuckles across his palm and then came the soap. 

Cheap tacky, slush puppy blue slush that comes out like it’s being torn from the arms of it’s one true love. He slides it all over his hands, slowly building up a nice thick lather. Fingers together again, get every little bit nice and sudsy and then wash clean. Oz watches himself do all of this and there’s...well it’s not quite fear but it’s a feeling. A disconnect between his actions and motions. It’s like watching a movie with one eye closed and a pair of headphones that only half work. 

Meanwhile he’s sat beside someone eating popcorn and snickering as loud as she can. 

“Are...you okay?” Oz asks aloud. “Wah? Yeah totes. Just getting mah wash on.” Oz replies. “Like..if somethings up.” Oz goes on. “Nothing is up. It’s…” Oz sighs. “God how do you make a cute pouty face without lips or a mouth, gosh you can’t make a cute pouty face.” 

“No. I can’t make a cute face.” Oz tuts. “Not a cute pouty one you’re doing fine on cute though.” Oz corrects and Oz looks away. “Please...don’t make me say that with my own mouth.” 

“What? I’m Oz and I’m so cute.” Oz tells himself and he turns to look in the mirror. “I’m a real fucking snack.” He goes on and he tries to move away from the mirror but he grabs the sink. “I dance really good and am upsettingly the bomb at back rubs. Like, damn, I could charge for those things.” 

Oz swallows again but every time he tries to look away he whips back up to look at himself. He starts laughing, he does. “What are you doing?” He asks. “Making your hair flip around, it’s great.” 

“Are you high?” Oz asks quietly. “On life!” Oz replies swiftly tugging his hand free of the sink. “Come on we got….school- that’s what we do here right? School to do!” Oz stuffed his hands in his pockets and moved into the hall taking a casual and leisurely stroll through the empty halls. 

Oz wonders if she’s serious...is this some other high for Polly? She’s possessed stuff before but usually just to make someone punch a baby or vomit on a wedding cake. He’s...never been possessed before...it’s..weird. He can feel himself move and he can see his moving but it all feels like it’s happened a thousand miles away from where he is. He’s sat somewhere, blithely aware of the fact that’s him doing all these things but...he’s not doing the things he’s doing. He’s just floating around, drifting in himself. He can feel the world move around him, dimly aware that he’s doing everything he’s seeing but it’s easy to relax. He’s not putting in the work. 

“Polly.” Oz mumbles. “You...it might not be safe in...wherever you are. I’m sort of...full of..well.” 

“Oh the lil guys?” Oz replies out loud holding up his hands and watching the little bumps and lumps across his skin blossom into curious faces. Confusion reigns, this isn’t the usual way of things. “They don’t mind me, I don’t mind them.” He goes on rubbing a knuckle under the half formed chin of the little phobia. 

“They’re like phobias.” Oz tells her. “I’m fear, you get that right? Living embodiment of fear and darkness and these little guys are the poisonous little overflow.” 

“Oh stop being so cruel to these little squirts,” Oz squeezes one beftween two fingers to squash it up all tall, “it’s just part of you ain’t it?” Oz squeezes again making little cooing sounds. “I’m fine Oz, I’ve been in far worse places than you.” 

“...Thank you.” Oz replies softly. “We gotta really do something about this, boo.” Oz goes on. “Like I get it, I do…” He exhales and stops. Exhales again. “Where the fuck does the air come out?” 

“I try not to worry about it.” Oz replies. “I...can’t really fix...something that is part of me.” Oz tells her and then stops dead. Well not as dead as she can be, Oz stops moving that was a bad metaphor. “So...nothings broken?” Oz states almost annoyed. “So why all….” He gestures to himself. “Mope.” 

“I mean...nothing being broken is generous.” Oz groans and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Oz you just said that you can’t fix a thing that’s part of you and then go oh I’m still broken,” Oz waves his hands around, “this is mixed signals, Oz.” He folds his arms across his chest and flops against a row of lockers. “You’re not helping yourself out at all here.” 

“I...it’s hard Polly.” Oz tells her. “I...you might say it’s stupid. But...like...being in here, being me is weird. It all spirals and loops and I feel like no matter what I do I keep ending up back at square one.” Oz sighs and looks outward, in a direction that has no real name and shakes his head- don’t tell the poor boy please. “I feel like I can get over the phobias and the shakes and the aches but it just never stays away.” 

“So the solution is to give up and wait for the world to blow up?” Oz asks, tugging on his hair again. “Oz you’re a smart dude. You know that sitting alone in the bathroom and kicking the door in half isn’t gonna help you.” 

“I know,” Oz retorts, “but I mean...that’s all I can do is wait.” Oz sighs and turns around to rest his head against the lockers. “No,” he rolls back, “don’t start moping. You know it sounds stupid when you say it out loud. I deal with my grief by sitting in a fart booth and attacking a door which is 65% glory hole. That’ll teach my negative self perception what for.” 

Oz snorts. “SEE! It’s fucking stupid!” Oz raises his hands. “Oz you have friends and stuff you can share with them. Just tell them! I realize it’s reductive toward your issues but like just saying shit out loud can help sometimes.” 

“Why are you talking to yourself and why are you in front of my locker?” Damien Lavey is confused as to why the small fearling has appeared in a place he doesn’t normally find him, that is to say visibly in his path. 

“I-” Oz starts to talk before rolling his eyes. Oh he never did that, oh he wouldn’t ever do that. “I’m kind of the middle of something here, self actualization is hard from the second person.” Oz snickers. “Holy shit that sounded so fucking smart.” 

“Okay I’m already kinda sick of...this.” Damien waved his hand to the side, scoot. Oz looks at the action and takes a step so small it’s generous to say an inch was given. “Dude, I don’t know where you found a fucking spine but I wll gladly debone you.” Oz starts to shake then snorts. “What?”

“Debone.” Oz replies with a laugh. “It’s just a funny word. S’got bone in it.” Oz snickers and Damien nods a few times. 

“Yeah no it’s a funny word.” Damien snorts, rubbing his fist under his nose. “Bone.” He repeats and both shake their head, boys….well...mostly boys. “But for real dude move over I got to shove a whole…” Damien gestures to the bloody sack at his feet. “Into my locker and it will drip on your shoes.”

“Oh damn.” Oz takes a bigger step. “You want me to hold the door wide?” 

“Oh that would fucking rock.” Damien entered his combo and swung the door open, Oz pulled it over and leaned against it. “I swear these used to be bigger, what the fuck happened to locker real-estate?”

“Vera bought up a monopoly share so she could put that bougie water cooler in her locker.” Oz looked at his nails...well where they should be. “You don’t have nails, how do you like open shit?” 

“What?” Damien stops trying to fold a femur in three places and looks at the dark little guy in yellow, “you talking to me?”

“No.” Oz waves a hand at Damien. “Just thinking out loud. So who's the unfortunate so and so?” Oz nods to the body that is swiftly becoming an abstract art piece of shattered elbows and powdered teeth. Damien snorts, shaking his head and kicking the body a few times. Wet sounds, then cracking sounds and then finally with one last big boot the whole thing is squashed into the locker. 

“That asshole was trying to fix the biggest trading card deal on the West side of campus.” Damien gestures for Oz to move, Oz obliges and Damien shuts the locker. Well tries to, something catches. “Fuckin.” He slams again. Again. Again. 

“Fingers,” Oz wiggles his and points down to the desperate clawed fingers jutting from the bottom of the locker, now gnarled and twisted up. Damien looks at them and then at Oz. 

“How much do you weigh?” Damien asks and Oz shrugs his shoulders. 

“Not a lot dude.” Oz replies as Damien picks him up and sits Oz on top of the lockers. “Woah we’re going uppies.”

“Shut up.” Damien looks at Oz’s shoes. “Okay I got a fix.” He goes into his pockets and removes a plethora of blades. He begins to duct tape them to Oz's feet. “This is doing me a solid by the way.” 

“Yeah no biggie just remember this,” Oz looks at the very awful weapons his feet are becoming. He can hear himself screaming in the back of his head and Oz rolls his eyes. “We’re gonna talk about this, mister.” He says and Damien looks up at him. “Not you stop, eavesdropping.” Damien goes back to working on the little guys soon to be murder Jordans, if the kid wants to nuts then he can. 

“Sure, yeah whatever just don’t talk about it out loud.” Damien takes a step back. “I can’t have people know I’m trying to keep this trading card crap legit.” He slides forward and taps a finger against the bottom of the now bladed sneakers. He draws his fingers back and there’s blood. “Fantastic.” 

“What you can’t have people know that Damien LeVey is a super fan of Tragic The Alonening?” Oz wiggles his fingers at Damien who scoffs. 

“No, obviously I can’t.” Damien snorts. “I mean I play Blue, Black dude if people knew that I’d get tossed to an even deeper circle of hell than the ones I frequent.” 

“Oh yeah you earned that.” Oz says out loud...as in Oz said that and Polly from somewhere deep in the dark grins at him. “I mean...you know.”

“Hey...it wins cash prizes, you can shut up.”

“AT the cost of your soul.”

“The cost of my soul is several hundreds of dollars and also nerd tears.” Damien raised a fist. “Fuck those nerds, with the power of shitty ass no fun tactics.” 

“I think I physically just lost respect for you.” Oz goes on and Oz wishes Polly was saying that, why is he saying these things out loud? Is this you Polly, are you doing this? “A lil.” 

“Shit. You’re lucky debone is a stupid word now or you’d be going in the locker. Also I kind of armed you to kill.” Damien mutters looking at the knife boots hovering over him. 

“Legged me to kill.” Oz corrects, that’s a Polly. “So the ol stomp and and separate?” Oz wiggles his legs and Damien scoots back from the tenuous duct tape murder boots he had crafted with wanton abandon. Now he fears their power, this is what that nerd felt when he made that giant buff dead dude that one time. Last week in biology. Maybe some of you thought that was a reference to a book- but that’s a nerd thing and Damien ain’t about that lest he can profit from it. 

“Please and thank you.” Damien takes a step back and Oz takes a step down. There’s a shrill sound as the locker slams shut. Damien shoves it closed and spins the combination lock. “Think about what you did trying to play mono-red at this school! You lost your fingers, not that you ever needed to fucking count with that deck.” 

“Oooh this is something.” Oz wobbles back and forth. “Oh I can get used to this, step, step, step,” Oz leans and buckles and flails his arms with each step, gouging the floor and stabbing the tiles to dust with each unsure step. Half of Oz had never had to wear anything taller than a four inch high-heel- listen Miranda needs another svelte sort to model those dresses and she pays upfront….we all like to look pretty. 

The other half of Oz hasnt’ had to walk in high heels in a very long time and never much got the hang of doing so without reenacting a roller derby. Add knives to that ensemble and it’s all a bit of a show for Damien. He just snaps a couple photos of the weirdo clinging to the top of lockers and skating around on blades. “Don’t fall!” Damien says begging Oz to fall. 

“Fuck you, Damien this sucks ass!” Oz cries out before falling flat on his ass. “Ohhh, jesus do you have...any fucking padding. Do you have an ass? I think that’s just spine and bone.” Oz rattles. “I don’t really...need comfort.” Oz shakes his head. “Oh fuck you don’t need comfort.” 

Oz peels the knives off. “You want your shit-tastic stabbers back?” Oz rattles and Damien shakes his head. “I’ll just leave them here, for a would be knife murderer to find.”

“A little gift from me to them. Or the janitor will add them to his giant knife collection.” Damien goes on dragging Oz up from the ground. “Thanks dude.” He claps Oz on the shoulder but Oz grabs him by the crook of his elbow and spins the demon around. 

“Settle a bet.” 

“Sure.” Damien shrugs. “What?” 

“I’m cute as fuck right?” Oz asks and Damien looks at Oz, eyes narrowing lips rolling back to expose sharp fangs. “Damien I’m not asking you to put my dick in your mouth, just a question. Sides, we don’t wanna choke you to death.” 

Polly please fucking stop. 

“I mean, shit,” Damien exhales through his nose, a faint red mist seeping out, “you’re pretty cute yeah. Why did someone say you weren’t?” 

“Yeah. Shocking, right?” 

“Some people are weird.” Damien shrugs his shoulders. “Anyway, you weren’t here, I wasn’t here, there’s not a corpse in that locker.” He gives Oz a slap on the cheek. “Good luck with...whatever you’re doing.” Damien slumps off down the corridor, hands in pockets and shoulders relaxed. Hands constantly balling into fists. 

“He’s gonna punch the next kid he sees.” Oz mutters as Damien looks around the corner. A gleeful smile splitting his face. He bolts down the corridor and someone starts screaming. “We should go. We’re next to a pile of knives, bloody severed fingers and a quietly sobbing locker.” 

“Yeah let’s run.”

“Oh I haven’t done that in so long!” Oz claps before running full kilter, arms windmilling ahead of him as the screaming grows louder and louder. 

\---

“Ugh...ugh…” Oz flops down by the party tree. “Are your lungs full of tar or something? Do you have a forty pack habit?” Oz mutters struggling to breathe. 

“I don’t have a mouth and yes.” Oz mutters. “My body is a gunk filled nightmare palace.” Oz grunts rolling onto his back and breathes slowly. “It takes a second or two…” Oz tells himself. “It’s...why are you just doing stuff mega hard?”

“It’s fun.” Oz replies. “Living and shit.” Oz goes on and then sits up. “Are you...actually getting high on life?” He slaps himself on the forehead and spills onto his back, a ringing in his head. “No dummy that’s not real but...it does feel good.” 

It’s quiet right now by the party tree. Somehow it’s that weird time of day where some soul has managed to organize a private rave. It’s headphones on and people flailing around listening to their own silent zone out tunes. It’s peaceful if your idea of peace is pastel coloured monsters slowly dancing this way and that while someone attempts to conduct them with rave sticks. 

Oz waits and breathes and lets the world move a little slower. He clasps his hands and looks at them. “Thanks.” Oz mumbles. “For taking care of Damien, I sorta locked up.” 

“You woulda had him, after crying for ten minutes.” Oz replies squeezing his hand. “I get that like...easier said than done, Oz.” Oz talks aloud and sighs. “But like you got people in your corner you get that, right? You can talk to us.” 

“I know.” He keeps looking at his hands. “It’s just...there’s a lot going on in there.” Oz mumbles. “I mean….not really.” Oz replies and he notices a shape slide down his shirt, a blue tinted tip of a finger sliding against the fabric. “Kinda lonely in here. Lots of dark and goop.” Oz swallows and tries to ignore the tingling. It feels settling, strangely warm. 

“Yeah but there’s nothing to me but that nothing.” Oz mumbles. “Fear is...at the end of the day...incorporeal. Things make you afraid, things cause you to be afraid but fear is just this...little fucking thing that crops up and then it vanishes. But like…” he exhales and feels a pressure on his hand, an urging. “Imagine fear just stuck around. That little shock of horror and imagine it just built and built and every new fear coalesces into itself.”

“I’m not afraid of that but you are or you will be.” Oz goes on just blathering now. “But like fear is supposed to be temporary. You beat it, you strangle it or get past it. It’s supposed to be a reaction but like...that’s all I am. I’m just fear made manifest. I’m that ten second scream stretched out taut to twenty four hours. I wake up terrified of something and over the day I’m so scared of everything I pass out exhausted. It takes effort to do everything and it’s just so fucking exhausting. Every other feeling for me is like that.”

“It’s like a soap bubble of joy, a dinky sailboat of glee, a sloop of genuine happiness and it has to surf across this big endless black ocean of fear. Fear isn’t impossible to navigate but it’s viscous. It clings and it cloys and it pulls at you until you get stuck. You think that’s not so bad but that’s fine. Fear waits and it drags and it pulls and it haunts you before you begin begging it to hurry and drown you. Because it’s agony, it’s like watching a movie between your fingers. The whole soundtrack is screaming sounds and there’s no way to know when the monsters are gonna jump out because everyone looks like a nightmare.” 

Oz takes a long breath. “I fucking had a panic attack because I didn’t have a pencil. So I thought I was gonna fail class and that if I failed that class I’d fail the next, the next and then I’d be like the crazy beach hag who eats sea shells and tames seagulls to attack kid’s faces.” Oz looks up at the shade. “People like you and Brian and Vicky and Zoe and Amira just...live and feel so easily. Hanging with some of you makes it easier to keep that vibe going. Scott and Miranda can help to but it’s like...having a lifeguard for my feelings.” He sighs and shakes a little, it has nothing to do with the temperature.

“It’s so fucking dumb, Polly. I’m so fucking dumb and there’s no-” 

He’s got his arms around himself a moment later, tight, tense, squeezing. Fingers digging into his shoulders and arm tight across his stomach. In his own voice he hears a quiet. “Shh,” and then the hands move gently, “it’s okay...You’re not dumb.” 

“Polly...stop.” Oz mutters but his hands keep moving. “I’m...serious stop I’m gonna fuckin-” he shakes there and then. Surrounded by students lost in their own little world Oz shakes and quakes. He doesn’t have tears to shed, his face runs a little and when it does the lights in his eyes peter out until it’s just big black circles full of dark. Drained of light and exhausted he shakes there in his own arms, held tight.

Somewhere else, Oz feels a hand slowly rub over his back, slowly he looks up at Polly. She’s a single blue light among all the darkness, a little twinkle on an endless blacksea of himself. He’s tethered to it by strands, thick ropes of darkness that he feels tug insistently on him. Beckoning him back into the surf, back down to the silt and the quiet. Drowning forever inside all that terror and fear, this is where you belong Oz. 

Drowning in the tar and the dark. She’s keeping him above water, it’s a fruitless gesture he’ll sin- She shakes him. “I CAN HEAR THAT SHIT MISTER.” She tells him and he looks up at her. “All that woe is me, bottomless ocean of self guilt English class why is the bedsheet blue- cause he’s sad crap!” 

Oz isn’t sure how to respond...Polly’s been awake in English class. 

“HEY. No sense of humour deflection now, smarty fucker.” Polly snaps prodding his forehead. “How fucking dare you hurt this much and not tell anybody.” She narrows her eyes at him. “You don’t gotta deal with this crap alone.” She won’t let him drop down there. 

“Do...you...want this?” Oz asks quietly as the landscape seems to quiver. 

“Wh...what?”

“The body. You can have it.” Oz mutters. “You can have it...I can change it a little and you can just have it. The warmth and the living and the...you don’t feel it.” Oz laughs. “How heavy it is, how vast this is...I can’t do it.” Oz mutters and Polly feels the tug, it’s a full body jerk to keep Oz out of the abyss. “It’s...always there Polly...you can’t always be here. That’s too much weight for one person and it’s not fair on you to have to carry my bullshit. But if I go down and you keep the body it won’t bother you, it doesn’t bother y-”

“I’m not living your life for you Oz.” Polly sounds upset with him. “I’m not gonna carry you either. This living thing is a team sport, like competitive joint rolling or chessboxing.” 

“I don’t think that the first one is real and I don’t think the second one is a team sport.”

“First one is real and the second one is a team sport if you wanna win. Wu-Tang sang about that shit and there’s like forty of them.” Polly went on and Oz had to agree. There were like forty Wu-Tang members; those guys probably did come at chess as a squad. 

“I can’t live in here, Oz…” Polly nods at the surroundings. “Visit...sure, fuck it. But you know...you got no mouth, I can’t drink or smoke in this place.” She smiles at him to let him know it’s a joke. “You gotta...live and stuff and you’re not gonna do that if I give you an out everytime.” 

Oz can’t face her. “It’s hard.” He mutters. 

“Course it is. Death is easy, comedy and life….very hard.” Polly mutters. “Hard as teenage dicks at a titty bar.” 

“That’s colourful.”

“This place needs colour, god.” Polly rattles back. “I can’t like...possess you all the time and stuff. It’s...there’s clearly a lot more here than a Polly Geist mellow chill sesh can handle.” She looks down at the viscous black, swirls and patterns of things swimming in the depths. The big fears, the nightmare phobias, the lurking darkness with jaws of horrors waiting for him to sink. 

She sighs. “But I can help you. We’re gonna...talk more, you hear me?” She shakes Oz in her arms and he still clings tight to her. “Talking daily check-ins. Nightly party sessions to get your brain back into feeling good.” 

“Is that-”

“It’s gonna help.” Polly tells him, cutting him off. “Doing this shit alone hurts. Sitting there too scared to talk is gonna kill you. So...share with me, let me help. I can’t do it all for you but I’m not gonna let you sink.” Polly tries to fly up but the tethers hold tight. “Talk to Brian about this, Vicky, Amira, hell Liam would...probably pop a boner in here, no lie.”

“I really don’t want Liam inside me.” Oz grips her soundly. “I’m kind of horrified you’re in here. I figured you’d...high tail it or something.” 

“I said I’d help you so I won’t. But...it’s not like this is gonna last forever.” Polly tells him again, another tug. “Would you assholes STOP? Do I gotta come down there and the kick crap outta one of you!?”

The chains ease. “YEAH! That’s what I fucking though, bitches.” Polly growls at them and adjusts her hold on Oz. “Fucking they’re wimps too, Oz. They...just look a lot bigger than you.”

Oz goes to speak.

“SAY something about being short or small or that being easy and I will, by god, SNORT YOU like a fucking cheap line.” She looks at him with very tired eyes and no...that’s not a roller coaster he wants to ride. 

Right now.

“Oh god damn, you a freak?” Polly snickers.

“I’m like...liquidious...I’m a little weird.” Oz mumbles. “So...what...daily check ins? Nightly..going and getting fucked up?” 

“You don’t gotta get fucked up you just...you should be there.” Polly tells him. “See that people care and like having you around. I like having you around.” Polly tells him and he breathes. “You gotta help yourself a little. Baby steps...no shit talking yourself for twenty four hours man.” 

“No shit talking myself for twenty four hours.” Oz mutters in agreement. “Polly.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” 

“Yeah.” She holds him and he holds tight. “This is...nice and all...but...you know what would be really fucking funny?”

“You have a prank idea don’t you?” Oz shakes his head and nods. “If I don’t do this thing are you gonna like...touch my insides again?” 

“What you don’t like it when I go-” Polly leans to one side with a smile on her face.

Oz sits up on the lawn as he feels a tongue trace across the inside of his cheek. A faint blue blur slides across his flesh. “Ohhh my god.” Oz wraps his hands around his face. The light in his eyes back on and spreading across his face. “Oh my god…” He mutters again. “Polly plea----” The words die as he feels hands press against his back and slide down, he has no spine but her hands stretch the membrane of darkness and she teases it with wicked fingers. 

“Ever had a backrub on the inside?” 

“Oh my god.” Oz stammers as she draws little circles across his flesh, patterns and shapes. Her fingers are so cold, so teasing and so delicate. He feels like he could burst, she pushes outward and his body twists and contorts to let it happen. Hands, start at the top of his back and move down, fingers squeezing as they descend. Small concentric circles. Moving down, another circle, down, another circle and he can hear her laughing in the back of his head. 

“Okay whatever you wanna do, please just….we can’t do this in public.” Oz begs quickly, looking for a sign of anyone noticing him. 

“I dunno this is kinda hot.”

“I do not disagree.” Oz hisses in reply to himself. “But...I really think that experimental weird kinky possession fondling should wait...for...not being on school ground, in broad daylight.” Oz whines. “Please?”

“Okay, rain check.” He tells himself. “Oh it better be.” Oz moans. “Oh I’m so fucked if this is a new fetish, please dear god tell me I don’t have a thing for possession.” 

“You do.” Oz tells himself. “I can feel your bo-” 

Oz slaps a hand over his mouth. “LETS JUST DO YOUR PRANK...PLEASE.” Oz begs and then nods. “Just...what do you wanna do?” She tells him. “OH that’s gonna suck.” 

“For you?”

“OH NO not for me that’s totally doable.”

“...I hate that you never told me this.” Oz mutters. “But I also totally understand I could not be trusted with this information.” Oz holds up his hands. “DO you wanna...or should I start?” 

“Oh I think I gotta do this part, I trust you but...trust me when I say it is...not gonna be fun.” Oz coughs once or twice into his fist and stands up. Everyone is still jiving to their own little slice of the world. Parties of one that are all about to be CRASHED. Oz wanders among them and then falls flat on his face, limbs twitching and body contorting. Fingers curl into tight claws and then ball into fists ripping up chunks of the turf. Headphones start coming up, someone signals for help as Oz rolls onto his back. 

His shirt bulges, strains as a great black mass rises up. Fabric twists, rips and starts to shred at the edges. Slowly, surely the crowd goes and bets are being placed if this kid is about to give birth to a squid, some sort of dog or like eighty seven million spiders. Camp siders is getting the most of the action. The shirt tears and then there’s a great horrible sound like canvas tearing as Oz’s body explodes outward.

The first four rows of people are coated in a thick clinging liquid membrane. A few had their mouths open and they start screaming as visions swim in their mind. New phobias took root, fears of everything from dentists to mariachi bands bloom and blossom in their brains. Wires cross, screams start and they start to spread it as they swipe the goo off throwing it everywhere. 

In the middle of the now screaming, dropping and rolling crowd is Oz flat on his back, wearing a thick slough of slimy skin is Polly Geist, her face split with an immense grin. Her eyes hidden under a hood of Oz flesh and she titters. 

“How was that for you, boo?” Polly asks and all she can hear is Oz’s laboured breathing. 

“Ohh….you’e gonna wanna do that again...I feel so fucking relaxed.” Oz mutters before breaking into a laugh that Polly soon joins him. Her forehead pressed against his as they devolve into a fit of laughter. Is it the fear? Madness or just the ecstasy of one another’s company? Who can say, not I, the narrator who knows the answer to all these questions not at all. 

“Polly...I need you to get off my pseudo kidney please.” Oz mutters as Polly tries to move, he can feel himself around her thighs, flesh pulses and fuses and he….well...he debates if this counts as some vague sexual act. He steadies her at the hips with his hands and tries to help her stand. She doesn’t budge. 

“Oh are we kinky role-playing? You’re the quicksand and I’m the beach babe trapped.”

“No you’re actually stuck.” Oz replies as Polly tries again. Pushing now on his chest and not moving. “Oh shit.” She wriggles and Oz winces. “Does that hurt?” She asks and he shakes his head. “...Does it tickle?” He shakes his head faster but she moves a little and his legs kick behind her. 

“Oooh.” Polly grins at this new toy. 

“I will give FIVE BUCKS to whoever can drag us to the nurses office!” Oz offers waving around a wad of cash, it’s a shame that all around them is an orgy of panic and fear, terror and madness. Man...don’t these people know that all you need to overcome fear is some good friends, patience and the drive to work on yourself? Just another lesson we’ve learned here at;

SPOOKY HIGH-SCHOOL!

“Don’t fade out on that!” Polly cries.

“YEAH DON'T LEAVE US STUCK LIKE THIS!” Oz demands.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I darkened these halls. I used to prowl around here in the forever ago- I think I might have posted one of the original fics for this fandom back when the game first dropped. I recently replayed a lil of prom and camp and...well...you can't keep a good ship down can ya? I like the idea of possession sometimes and just figured I'd try something. Hopefully someone likes it, let me know.


End file.
